


In the Sky with Diamonds

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:08:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8900827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Imported from LJ, written July 19th, 2012 as part of a rebang. Art by mruczanka here: http://mruczanka.livejournal.com/827.html





	

Eames hated the smell. Almost despised it. And the color. And the people. Hell, he hated just about everything about it. Still, he needed to be here, to see the man. Yeah, he'd seen the pictures and posters, but to him there was nothing like seeing his target in the flesh. Seeing the little nuances. It always helped to know the way a target moved, the way he thought. It was this mentality that made Eames the best marksmen. Where others hesitated because their target moved in a way they couldn't predict, Eames always took the shot, because he knew where they were going. Aside from his training with the BSA, Eames had never missed his target.

This was going to be the lazy way out, but it's what he'd been told to do and it would probably get the job over quick. He looked at the detonator in his hand and then back up at the crowd. Damned hippies. They didn't really deserve to die but they didn't deserve life either if this is what they were going to do with it. Useless. Without hesitating, Eames' thumb pushed the button and he watched from afar as the whole building behind them exploded. Those that didn't die from the impact or the explosion itself went screaming and running in all directions like ants under a magnifying glass. The music halted abruptly as their cries echoed across the courtyard. All but one.

Arthur hadn't moved an inch. He had to have felt the impact, heard the explosion and the screaming, but he hadn't even flinched. His face remained calm, his eyes closed, as dust and rubble flew around him. Eames could see the flames at his back, getting closer, but still Arthur's composure didn't break. He couldn't have looked more serene. Even when black-gloved hands closed around his arms and dragged him down. He's like a doll, Eames thought. They only move when you aren't looking.

–

“Ready to go under, sir?” He nodded once. “Always am. Is he?” “We've no idea, sir. He hasn't moved since we brought him in. He could jeopardize this whole thing.” The agent looked worried. “No. He's smarter than that. Let's go, boys.”

–

The explosion overwhelmed the crowd and sent them scattering across the courtyard. All but one. Christ. Eames thinks. He's like a doll. Doesn't move. Two agents came up on him and took him down, but this time wasn't like the last. His eyes opened.

And they looked directly at Eames.

–

“These are not your dreams, you know.” Eames jumped out of the chair, knocking over the coffee. It had felt like days, Arthur had never once spoken until now. Everyone in the room was standing and watching him through the one-way mirror. “These are not your dreams. They are dreams, but they are not yours.”

Eames calmly exited the hidden room, then walked into the interrogation room they'd been keeping the hippie in. “What is it then?” The other man only smiled. “They are mine.” Eames rolled his eyes again. “Tell us how they work.” He held still, his arms crossed against his broad chest. It was obvious Arthur was looking him over before he looked up. “I can tell you that no torture can work here, and I can tell you that you don't have the experience to really be making this successful.” He stood, something he should not have been able to do as he was tied up just a second ago. “In a few minutes, you will likely all die, unless I choose to stay or you allow me to leave.” Eames raised a brow, watching as Arthur moved ever closer. “And why would I do that?” Now Arthur, his hands in his pockets, leaning closer. “I know why I've been brought under, but for my sake and yours, let me educate you quickly before too much harm is done to anyone here with us. You control this do you not?” Eames nodded once. It wasn't his operation, but he was in control while anyone was down with their prisoner. Arthur leaned in so his lips were right near Eames' ear, hidden from the camera and window. “Evict them from the dream, and I will show you everything.”

Eames stood for a moment, not moving an inch as he weighed the options. A second later, one arm pulled Arthur out of the way as the other smoothly unholstered his gun and fired three shots straight into the window. He strode towards it and looked through one of the bullet holes. “We're alone.” He turned to see Arthur already on his way out the door. Eames rushed forward, grabbing his arm. “Oy, I still have a job to do, you're mine until I decide to wake us up. And there are more. You stick with me until I know they're all gone and you've told me everything I came for.” Arthur stopped in his tracks and nodded, waiting for Eames to go ahead. “I'm Eames, by the way.” Arthur nodded once. “I know.”

–

Eames took out four more on the way out of the building. When he opened the supposedly front door, all he saw was endless, white nothing. Arthur came up behind him and a second later there was a bustling city street filled with people, all staring at them. “Keep moving, act like nothing is wrong.” Eames stepped into the street quickly, and just like that, everyone was back to their own day. Arthur grabbed his shirt and stopped him from taking a step further. “Are you stupid? Or just unprepared?” Eames looked at him, confused. “You can't pull shit like that, man! Everything has to be built already, has to be done a certain way. The more your brain understands that this isn't yours, the faster it turns on you and tries to shut you out! I'm not an idiot, if we wake up they'll probably kill you and hold me until they get what they want and kill me too. I've done this before.” Eames shoved him away. “Why do you think we have you? We don't know jack about this, only enough to get here.” He started walking away, then stopped. “You've done this before? Bloody hell, that's a security breach if ever I've heard one.” The younger man rolled his eyes at that. “You can't possibly believe you're the only country who's tried this on me before? Old road, but they're usually more prepared than you. Now lets go.” With that, the hippie strode off down the street, the conversation obviously over as Eames followed him quickly.

–

Eames stared at the lobby. “What the bloody hell are we doing here?” Arthur walked right past the desk clerk and towards the elevator. “We're checking in. Clearly.” Eames looked confused as Arthur pulled him into the elevator. “You didn't think I was actually going to tell you anything did you? You're a smarter man than that. You were hired, right? Trained assassin, but you thought you could take this on.” Eames nodded once. Something didn't feel right and he was only half-listening to Arthur as the elevator continued up. His other hand rested on his gun were it was holstered. Arthur seemed to ignore this. “It's happened before. Did you know a Yusuf? He got himself killed trying to get information. He was hired too. I've never seen a brain turn so quick or so harsh on man.” Eames flinched a little but otherwise didn't respond. The elevator door opened and Eames was lucky he was the first to shoot. The agent slumped to the ground. Thankfully, he was the only one. For now.

Arthur casually stepped out of the elevator like it was no big deal, smoothly stepping over the dead body. He ran fingers through his hair as he moved down the hall. The motion struck Eames as strangely uncharacteristic for the leader of the hippies, or whatever. He followed quickly, tucking the thought away for now. Well, not for now. Hippies didn't kick in doors. But Arthur did. The first thing he did once in the door to the hotel room was... belly flop onto the huge bed with a groan. “What are you doing? Get up.” Arthur shook his head. “Nah. We need to make a plan but first we need to sleep. Building is still draining and I can't figure out why.” Eames shut the door as Arthur talked, bolting it shut. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?” There was another groan. “You don't even know what building is? Christ. I'm gonna have to explain this or you'll kill me in my sleep. Come here, I don't feel like moving.”

Eames sauntered toward a nearby chair and sat, using a corner of the bed as a foot rest. Arthur sat up with a yawn and looked at Eames. “Tell me what you know about this operation.” Eames cleared his throat. “Your name is Arthur. Unofficially leader of the damned hippies in the world, peace and serenity and all that rubbish. You have information about a higher level of consciousness that the US government wants.” He shrugged. “That's all they knew and it was my job to get the rest.” Arthur laughed loudly, much to Eames' annoyance. “Christ, is that is? You've been painfully mislead. This isn't the first time the US government has tried to get all my information. You know, if they were nicer about it, I'd just tell them. You're Eames, right? Cobb's friend?” Eames nodded. “Yeah, what of it?” Arthur smiled. “He died too, but he said that if I ever found you, I could trust you. You claim to be all about the money, but really, you side with whomever you think is right. So let's get started. This is called a dreamshare, it's my dream, which is really a mistake. You can't just jump in to one of these things, you need a team, which right now is just you and me so you better learn quick. I'm what's called a point man. I focus on the details that keep the dream real. I keep the facts straight. What we really need is an architect. Someone to build the dream. We don't have one and I'm not that great at it, so lets not stray too far. How long do you think we've been here?”

Eames stared at him, still soaking up the information and putting it together in his head as best he could. “Uh... feels like three or four days.” Arthur shook his head. “It's been about half an hour real time. We need to leave in the next couple days. I've never been able to hold a stable dream more than an hour. That was how Yusuf died. It got unstable. So I'm gonna sleep, in the morning we're gonna get out of here. Maybe I can lay low for a while and pretend I died.” Eames was still staring. “Wait a moment, wait a moment. Leave how? They'll just take us into custody when we wake. Why do you want to fake your own death, you've got, like, potheads to lead and shite, don't you? And why are they trying to get information from you in the first place? Why don't you just give it?” Again, the other laughed as he laid down. “I'm not a complete hippie, Eames. I smoke pot to relax so I can keep the dreams more stable. I just happened to fall in with the crowd. I'm not all anti war, I just like being calm. You're too uptight, everyone is. It makes things dangerous. Any government who assumes it's a better idea to torture me for information rather than ask me has no business knowing how to use it. If they'd just ask, I'd tell them. Anyways,we gotta sleep and get out of here. Don't get any ideas. I can survive without you but you can't live without me, not after shooting all those agents. We'll get started in the morning, I'm tired.”

–

When he awoke, Eames had the worst imaginable crick in his neck and a strange brunette man standing over him. “You've got to be kidding, there's no way that's actually you.” Arthur smiled and backed off. “Clothes on the bed if you care, we need to get up and get ready. The dream's getting unstable fast, we need to get out.” Eames stretched long before standing and stretching once more. “Seriously now, this is how you dressed yourself?” He looked Arthur over, the man was clad in black slacks, a white button down with black tie, and a dark blue vest. His long hair was slicked back. “Usually not so much with the hair and tie, but I like to do this when I need to be in a business mood. Hurry up.” He looked out the window of the room and Eames' eyes were drawn to the world outside. The buildings were on fire.

“What are we planning then? If we wake up, we're screwed.” Arthur looked to Eames. “You can't have gone under completely unarmed, where'd you store your guns?” Eames thought for a moment, distracted by a pounding on the door. “Bloody hell you couldn't've woken me sooner?” Arthur looked at the door. “Guns. Where are they.” The Brit's attention turned back to Arthur. “One left side arm holster, one right side hip holster, knife left and right thigh. You're on my right.” Arthur nodded curtly and pulled a gun out of a desk drawer, tossing it to Eames. “Shoot yourself. Don't waste any time. See you on the other side.” He picked up his own gun and shot himself in the head. Secretly, Eames hoped he'd never have to see that again. He shot himself a second later, right as the door burst open.

–

When Eames woke up again, There was a pain in his left leg that he quickly guessed to be a bullet wound, crossfire in the small room, and Arthur next to him rapidly shooting at the different agents. It took him a split second to register what was going on before grabbing his left-side gun and aiming it at the nearest agent, shooting him in the gut. Two more shots from him and one from Arthur took down the rest of the agents in the room, but not before one could land a cascade of bullets in Arthur's side.

Eames rushed to stand, hearing Arthur's scream echoing in his head. “FUCK!” The American was looking down at his bleeding side, biting down on his lip. “Didn't think the bastards were gonna try and kill me!” Eames holstered his gun. “Shut up. Tell me where we're going and I'll get us out. They'll want me too, after this.” He stooped, picking up Arthur and ignoring the echoing groan before standing fast, taking one of the government issue semi-automatics with him. “Let's go.”

–

How in the hell Eames managed to shoot his way out of a government facility with an incapacitated hippie slung over the shoulder was a either a miracle, or they were let out. Eames would naturally suspect the second, but it didn't matter right now. Right now, he had Arthur stretched out in the back seat of an armored SUV and bleeding out, with no plan whatsoever. “Arthur, Arthur! Where are we going?” He sped through the streets of DC, clipping cars here and there as he wove through the traffic. “Bloody left-hand drives.” He cussed, listening for Arthur. He looked over his shoulder. “Wake up! Tell me where to go!” Out of the blue, he heard a mutter left and went with it, turning left as soon as he could. A moment later, right at Arthur's word, and then straight for 20 miles until he hit a back road into heavy forest. Eames saw a car following him and drove aimlessly until he lost the man. When he was back on track, he followed Arthur's muttered directions as best he could.

He did not expect what he found. Even if it were him, he wouldn't have a set up this elaborate. Eames looked over his shoulder again for guidance but Arthur was out cold. Fuck, he needed to hurry. He drove up the drive that appeared to go nowhere but brambles, and right as he was about to stop, the ground dropped out from under him. He yelped a little as the SUV rolled down the ramp into a hidden garage. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Eames muttered, driving slowly into a park position and stopping the car. Quickly, he got out of the car and collected a gun, his aid bag, and Arthur, carrying him to the door. Oh fuck, a code. He hadn't been around Arthur nearly long enough to have any fucking clue what code to use. He tried three times, best guesses really, and then the alarm went off. Oh fuck it. Eames' boot met the door and forced it open. He was just stepping in to what looked like a kitchen and immediately noticed a code on a fridge magnet that said “PANIC” after it. On the off chance, he tried it on the door code. The alarm disabled and he carried on, setting Arthur on the nearest available surface, the kitchen counter.

“Wake up, dammit, wake up!” He shook Arthur before digging in to the med bag and pulling out tweezers. Arthur's pulse was steady so far but he'd still lost a lot of blood and he had about six or seven bullets in his side. Even for a man Eames barely knew, it was just rude to let someone die. He hung an IV bag from a cabinet and tapped the needle into Arthur's arm before kneeling so he was at eye level with the wounds. Alright. Start at one, work your way down.

Even on pain killers, Arthur screamed. Eames got the first two bullets out, verifying that they were whole, before reaching for ear plugs. Yeah, he was an assassin, but he was better with a gun. He didn't like this agony shit. The earplugs definitely helped for the next three bullets, but then he got to number six and it went to shit. Arthur started begging, screaming for him to stop, give him a break. What's worse, the bullet shattered in impact and Eames picking out shards, trying to piece the damn thing back together to make sure he had all the pieces. It felt like ages before he was sure. At least it was the last one. Eames carefully pulled away Arthur's ruined shirt, reaching for a curved needle and a long piece of thread. This, he was fast at. Twenty minutes and he had the gaping holes fairly neatly sewed up and bandaged over, and Arthur had reduced to whimpering on the table. “C'mon darling, time to clean you up.”

–

It took over an hour to get Arthur through a full bath. He was a little to far gone to help Eames really, but he was awake enough to groan and cry, making Eames go slower in an attempt not to hurt him as much. He laid Arthur out on the couch, found some clothes to dress him, and then explored around the house. He didn't find any windows until he got 4 stories up, and they opened right onto the ground. So he built most of the house underground then. There were a lot of rooms, but only a few of them looked properly lived in. Most of them seemed like other people's rooms, they didn't fit the style of the ones that looked lived in.

Eames was just getting to what seemed to be the last room when he heard a groan from what seemed to be Arthur. He rushed downstairs, peaking his head around the corner at the other man on the couch. Well, he should have been on the couch. Instead, Eames came face to face with a very exhausted looking Arthur holding a gun right against Eames' nose. “...Arthur, darling, I think you should go lie down.” Arthur's hand was shaking. “My clothes. Where are my clothes. Were we followed?” Eames shook his head and very slowly stepped around Arthur, hands raised a little as he watched the other with caution. Eames may be good, but he couldn't move faster than bullets.

“Clothes are over here, darling. Right where I left 'em.” He saw Arthur follow him, lowering the gun a bit. Eames back up all the way against the counter as he pointed to the pile of bloody clothes. The second Arthur saw it, he dropped to his feet and started rifling through the pockets, looking more and more frustrated until he came up with a bloody die. He looked up at Eames with wide eyes, the small trinket clutched in his fist. “Did you touch this?” He aimed the gun on Eames again, who quickly shook his head. Arthur, gun still up, rolled the die. Eames barely had time to see where it landed before Arthur shot him in the head.

–

His head hit something as he jerked upright. “Ow, bloody fucki-” “Shut up!” Eames quieted immediately and actually looked around. He was in a van, Arthur was just waking up next to him, and there was some caddy girl yammering at him to quiet the fuck down. Eames sat there confused while Arthur was up in the passenger seat in a second. He received no explanation whatsoever as they kept driving. It felt a bit uncanny after a moment, actually, he'd just been shot, woken up in a van, and now they were on a merry fucking drive to nowhere.

“Oy, you lot, just what the bloody fuck d'you think-” Arthur lunged at him, clamping a hand over his mouth as he pinned him flat to the floor. “Are all Brits like this? You were told to shut up.” The words were hissed, Arthur's face only inches away from Eames'. “I will explain later, but for now, you cannot make noise. The woman called to them quietly. “Checkpoint Arthur, cover up.” The other man growled and kept his hand on Eames' mouth as he grabbed a blanket and pulled it over them, pressing himself flush to Eames to diminish the bump. Eames wasn't entirely uncomfortable with it, but it wasn't something he preferred to think about just then, especially not the way Arthur had slipped his thigh right between Eames' own legs. Technically, this was still work. He couldn't be doing this. He tried to shift Arthur off him, grunting a little in the process. The other was having none of it, his knee pressing sharply against Eames' crotch and making the Brit nearly squeak.

Eames had no idea how long it had been when the woman driving told them it was clear, but it felt like hours and his cock was refusing to cooperate. “Just a moment, Ariadne, we're a bit tangled.” Eames nearly growled, trying again to buck Arthur off him and simultaneously willing his body to calm itself. Arthur didn't move off him though, instead moving his freehand down and... that was most definitely the zip on Eames' pants. Arthur's fingers were deft and the release of pressure on his cock was overwhelmingly sweet. And then Arthur's hand closed around him.

He wasn't sure how he felt about this. He was in the back of a van that he didn't recognize, in clothes he never remembered owning, being driven by a women who, if she looked, would probably know exactly what was happening between him and this man he barely knew. Attractive man that he barely knew, but still. Arthur's hand was unusually warm, his fingers nimble and fast. He wasted no time pumping his hand, thumb swiping over the head of Eames' cock on the upstroke. The other groaned, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. Bloody fuck, how had he gotten himself into this?

Eames looked up when he felt Arthur's hand pulled away, highly concerned the man might well work him up and then leave him to finish. But no, that was certainly not what Arthur was doing. Eames stared down between them as Arthur freed himself from his jeans and wrapped his hand around both their cocks at once, his breath shallow and hot where it ghosted over Eames' ear. It took quite an effort to keep quiet, his hips rocking slowly against Arthur's as the other's hand stroked and twisted flesh against flesh. It wasn't long before Eames' hips jerked sharply and he fought to contain a moan as he came between them, feeling hot ropes of come hitting his stomach. Arthur followed quickly, biting down sharply on Eames' neck as he rocked between them, probably to silence himself. He shuddered a long sigh, his hand releasing them and digging around for something to wipe them off but coming up short. His other hand slipped free of it's hold over Eames' lips and he slid to the side, laying down next to the other. Eames closed his eyes, already tired. God, he hadn't had a good wank in far too long.

–

 

“Arthur, you know I don't care about your exploits, but I might have to burn the van now or something. Or at least the blanket, I mean seriously?” Eames bumbled something and lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, annoyed at how the woman's voice cut through his groginess. He felt someone move next to him and looked over blearily, just a hair surprised to see Arthur tucked against his side and looking up at Ariadne, if he remembered right. He heard Arthur mutter something about it being his blanket, and could she please go them them a cloth?

At that, he sat up slowly, scratching at his chest and looking around. Yeah, that had been fun, but it was time to get a handle on where the hell he was. He tucked himself back into his pants, waiting for the cloth from Arthur to clean himself up. Didn't matter, though, because it was already on his shirt. Wonderful. Eames took his shirt off leaving a rather fitted tank top.

“Arthur, what the bloody fuck is going on?” Arthur looked up at him. “Lets get tea and then I will explain.”

–

Surreal was a good word for this. Arthur's home, or what he assumed to be Arthur's home, was a strange conglomerate of many of the rooms in the other house, but none of the ones he would expect. Arthur's house had a strangely fitting vintage feel, 20s or 30s relaxed era. Eames had to say he admired Arthur's taste.

They were sitting in the living room, Ariadne obviously was comfortable, like she belonged here. Eames wasn't sure he entirely enjoyed the thought. Which was foolish, of course. So here he sat in Arthur's living room with a lovely cuppa warming his hands. “The house that you saw was a dream.” Eames shook his head. “But we'd just woken from a dream...” Arthur nodded. It was hard not to note how natural he looked like this. The American was sitting cross-legged in a large seat, an afghan over his lap and a tie-dye bandana holding back his wet hair (he'd showered not long ago, leaving Eames to suffer Ariadne's scrutiny). “It was a security measure. You would have been put under before you reached the base, and in the dream led to believe that you were already there. We would have only been under for 40 minutes or so.” He looked to Ariadne. “What took so long?” The young woman answered casually. “Security checks and deciding if tall dark and handsome here should come with.” Eames looked up at that. “Yeah, speaking of, what made you decide to bring me along. Probably ruined my reputation, I won't find work now.” Ariadne glared at him. “Like I care. And I figured, the way you had your hands all over his side, you'd be safer with us.” This time, it was Arthur who glared. “Excuse me? You know we don't move when we're under. Why would he even be touching my side?”

Before Arthur could get more upset, Eames spoke. “You were shot. I don't know about the whole moving business, but in the dream, you were shot. At the house, I dug six bullets out of you.” The Englishman looked down, feeling foolish. A moment later, Ariadne got up and left.

“Why would you do that?” Arthur was on the edge of his seat, watching Eames with the same disturbing intensity he'd seen in the posters the hippies liked to put up. “I didn't know it was a bloody dream and it's a coward only who leaves a man behind. Besides, not getting answers drives me round the bend.” He felt a hand clasp his and looked up, a little started to see Arthur so close. “Thank you. What do you want to know?” There was mischief in Eames' eyes. “Everything.”

–

Eames should never ask for an entire explanation ever again. He got lost somewhere around “dreamscape” and gave up listening for watching how calm and yet enraptured Arthur was just talking about it all. There was something about how he'd discovered the dreamscape, which made Eames suspect that was why he'd been kidnapped so often. It was late when Arthur finally yawned and stood. “Well, it's been quite the day. Too late to get rid of you, so you'll have to stay the night and I can drop you off in the morning so you can go home.” Arthur turned and headed for stairs. “The shower is up here. Feel free. Couch is cozy.”

–

For the night, he decided to settle on Arthur's couch. Of course, being an assassin meant he slept light, and the sound of music woke him easily in the middle of the night. Eames up fast, not thinking about the fact that it probably wasn't anything to worry about. He trudged up the stairs, finding the room the music was coming from. Quietly, he nudged the door open, seeing someone standing just to the side. Definitely wasn't anyone who should be in the house, Arthur hadn't mentioned any American military staying in the house so he snaked his arm between the small space and locked his hand around the man's neck. He pressed his body against the wall for more leverage and it only took a few seconds for the man to slump to the ground, unconscious. A shot busted through the door as Eames ducked inside, grabbing the first soldier's gun and aiming at the man he could barely see in the dark. Still, his shot rang true and the other man fell sideways, but someone else fell with him. Eames jumped up, flipping on the lights to see (a very naked) Arthur passed out on the floor, still in the other man's grip. There'd be more there soon, no doubt, so he hauled Arthur over his shoulder and ran downstairs and outside, dumping Arthur in the back of the van and jumping in, taking off down the road.

–

Every time Eames had a job, he made it a point to have three available places to sleep, aside from the known hotel room. One with an ally, one impossible to find, and a second hotel room. Right now, he wasn't sure where to go.

“Yusuf?” He'd stopped at a payphone. “I need a place to hide someone. Preferably that isn't a bloody cellar. The voice on the other line spoke quick and then hung up. Eames really needed to know the states better.

–

Arthur finally awoke a few hours later, bleary and groggy and not quite all there. Eames had been sitting with his foot to the door, gun in hand, but there hadn't been even a single reverberation. By the time Arthur was awake, he determined the location truly was safe. He heard the American groan and got up, wandering to the bed and sitting on the edge. Arthur blinked up at him blearily, looking tired. Whatever had been done to him, it had made him dead tired. Arthur tried to sit up but couldn't quite make it, Eames' arms reaching to catch him before he could fall too far. Arthur smiled and kissed him lightly, laying back down and pulling Eames' with him. He was never going to get rid of this ruddy American.

–

Eames woke before Arthur, just as sun was peeping through the shades of the tiny house. It cast shades across the bed, catching the olive hue of Arthur's skin and reflecting on the curls of his hair. It was the first time Eames could right and proper understand the idea of serenity, how a man like Arthur could lead a collection of people in something so far-reaching as peace. Eames wanted to catch the look on Arthur's face, the one that told him he'd likely never be able to leave the man's side. He dug into his bag for his camera, buy came up dry. So he snagged his sketch pad instead.

Ruddy Americans.


End file.
